"…and bring the fight to them”
Petrichor/Mamihlapinatapei - Dorothy/Eight for Anna
"Oh, for heaven’s sake."
He must be lost again in his own way (pun not intended, but indulged despite). Nothing so straight forward as lack of direction, though that isn’t to say that he isn’t in want of that as well. But the most pressing matter is the lack of who he used to be, the lack of what he’s supposed to be thinking, doing. This lost is familiar. He’s done this before.
Must have done this before.
She’s dragging him along quite insistently, her hand not exactly holding so much as gripping. He follows more than happily. If he’s not in a position to provide direction to himself, then who is he to deny the donation of it from others?
"You’re like a goldfish!"
Her grumble is so familiar that it almost seems to resonate down the arm leading him all the way to the bottom of his rib cage where stupid decisions and instinct room comfortably next to each other. The logical conclusion is that he knows her, and that does help him somewhat. She’s not surprised, and she’s clearly used to him trailing behind her. Says plenty about a person. Just not all of a person. Not enough.
"Never know when you’re going to show up, what you’re going to look like, if you’re going to remember me at all."
He smiles happily and agrees, as that seems to be the thing to do. People who follow are good yes people. She doesn’t take it well. A hypothesis eliminated.
"And look! It’s always one of those three isn’t it. And isn’t even because I haven’t met this you. I can’t even count how many times I’ve met this you!"
He isn’t sure if he likes this fellow she’s talking about, which adds itself to an increasing collection of worries he is quietly assembling in his head. Perhaps he wasn’t so likable.
"You need something to plug into. A backup for your extremely buggy brain, but who knows if they make floppys anymore-"
She trips, and attached as he is, he trips right along with her and gets a faceful of everything. Patches of skin pressing into his nose and cheek through the ponytail mostly whipping directly into his eyes. And a whiff of a storm that’s passed. Never arriving, never here, but passed. The smell of rain lingering without any of the atmosphere and he remembers suddenly, immediately, abruptly.
"It’s always nice to see you, Dorothy," he tells her. "Having backups that are mocking me always keeps me on my toes. No worry of adding too many flourishes in my absence."
She only turns around briefly, connecting a few seconds of communication between their eyes, confirming his identity. And then, as if this has added to the problem rather than to the solution, she huffs and continues stomping through - looking quickly around - the forest.
Being who he is, he follows her home.
Send me a word and a character/series/pairing and I will write a drabble:
Cheiloproclitic - Being attracted to someones lips.
Quidnunc - One who always has to know what is going on.
Ultracrepidarian - Of one who speaks or offers opinions on matters beyond their knowledge.
Apodyopis - The act of mentally undressing someone.
Gymnophoria - The sensation that someone is mentally undressing you.
Tarantism - The urge to overcome melancholy by dancing.
Autolatry - The worship of one’s self.
Cagamosis - An unhappy marriage.
Gargalesthesia - The sensation caused my tickling.
Capernoited - Slightly intoxicated or tipsy.
Lalochezia - The use of abusive language to relieve stress or ease pain.
Cataglottism - Kissing with tongue.
Basorexia - An overwhelming desire to kiss.
Brontide - The low rumbling of distant thunder.
Grapholagnia - The urge to stare at obscene pictures.
Agelast - A person who never laughs.
Wanweird - An unhappy fate.
Dystopia - Am imaginary place of total misery. A metaphor for hell.
Petrichor - The smell of dry rain on the ground.
Anagapesis - The feeling when one no longer loves someone they once did.
Malapert - Clever in manners of speech.
Duende - Unusual power to attract or charm.
Concilliabule - A secret meeting of people who are hatching a plot.
Strikhedonia - The pleasure of being able to say “to hell with it”.
Lygerastia - The condition of one who is only amorous when the lights are out.
Ayurnamat - The philosophy that there is no point in worrying about events that cannot be changed.
Sphallolalia - Flirtatious talk that leads no where.
Baisemain - A kiss on the hand.
Druxy - Something which looks good on the outside, but is actually rotten inside.
Mamihlapinatapei - The look between two people in which each loves the other but is too afraid to make the first move.
Ey-up, followers, get on this! The one prompt I received is sad and lonely all by itself.
happy international women’s day
Why isn’t there a white/Caucasian female? We’re supposed to be celebrating the endless and powerful spectrum of women all over the world.
Because not only do women of colour face oppression by men on a daily basis, they also face oppression by white people on a daily basis White women are very well represented in comparison to women of colour - they’ve had numerous TV shows that are white feminist-centric - eg Girls, Sex and the City and also movies like Mean Girls. A celebration of solely women of colour is necessary in order to empower us and bring us at least to the same status of white women.
Women of colour are not represented very well in white media, and are told to get their own shows but when they do get their own shows they’re told “wow, an all coloured show? isn’t that kinda racist???” In fact, white people make about only 30% of the world, meaning white women are 15% of the world’s population.
Basically what I’m trying to get at is if the white population represented women of colour better then we wouldn’t need a separate celebration of our achievements. But they don’t, so we do. It’s like that post about Mario Kart - you don’t get the blue shell if you’re already in first place. I’m sorry if this didn’t make sense, it’s 1:30 in the morning.
bless you for replying to this is a manner much better than i could have done.
white people can get a “caucasian female” included the day they collectively realize caucasian is a term that refers to a group of (not necessarily white) people from the caucasus and not every white woman on earth
The Cube desktop 3D home printer by 3D Systems
Putting this on the Xmas list!
MASS MARKETED 3D PRINTING IS HAPPENING.
I REPEAT, MASS MARKETED 3D PRINTING IS HAPPENING.
DO NOT PRINT A DILDO!
Even the best 3D printers have tiny gaps for bacteria at least, and can cause tiny cuts at worst.
Print a dildo mould and fill it with latex.
Unless you’re printing tiny dildos to put in a bag so when someone is a jerk you can throw tiny dicks at them and tell them to “go eat a dick”. Then by all means, print tiny dicks.
Wizardstan dropping some knowledge
Godfrey Gao (x)
THIS IS MY DESIGN.
This is great.
I love your work.
I am a literature student and I have tears of laughter in my eyes
"Oh, to be toilet paper, that I might touch that cheek."
"Do you wipe your bum at us, sir?"
"No, sir, I do not wipe my bum at you, sir, but I wipe my bum, sir."
"Diarrhea on both your houses!"
"How silver-sweet sound lovers’ toots by night,
Like the softest music to attending ears.”
THIS POST IS THE BEST THING THAT HAS EVER HAPPENED TO ME
The other day I had a really good idea for a story:
A high school Shakespeare club angrily splits into two groups when they can’t agree on the correct interpretation of Romeo and Juliet. One group thinks it’s a cautionary tale about the stupidity of youth and shallow lust; the other group think it’s a beautiful tragedy about poisonous hatred conquered by love. Reconciliation seems impossible-
-then a person from one group falls in love with a person from the other
#it would be better if somehow EVERY OTHER SHAKESPEARE WAS HAPPENING AT ONCE#like you got a benedict and beatice b-story#and then somebody see’s their dad’s ghost#and there’s cross-dressing#and three upperclassmen tell macbeth he will be drama club president
HAPPY INTERNATIONAL WOMEN’S DAY!!!
Boy, Snow, Bird by Helen Oyeyemi, a reimagining of “Snow White”
From the prizewinning author of Mr. Fox, the Snow White fairy tale brilliantly recast as a story of family secrets, race, beauty, and vanity.
In the winter of 1953, Boy Novak arrives by chance in a small town in Massachusetts, looking, she believes, for beauty—the opposite of the life she’s left behind in New York. She marries a local widower and becomes stepmother to his winsome daughter, Snow Whitman.
A wicked stepmother is a creature Boy never imagined she’d become, but elements of the familiar tale of aesthetic obsession begin to play themselves out when the birth of Boy’s daughter, Bird, who is dark-skinned, exposes the Whitmans as light-skinned African Americans passing for white. Among them, Boy, Snow, and Bird confront the tyranny of the mirror to ask how much power surfaces really hold.
Dazzlingly inventive and powerfully moving, Boy, Snow, Bird is an astonishing and enchanting novel. With breathtaking feats of imagination, Helen Oyeyemi confirms her place as one of the most original and dynamic literary voices of our time.